Nasher
------
His back ached. Delegation from Silverymoon had a lot to say, and sitting on cold stone made his gout even worse. Lord Nasher remembered days when he battled minotaurs and suddenly, without warning, he had become an old man with gout. It wasn't fair.
But things were rarely fair, and it was the way of the world. Idealistic thoughts were all very nice but they tended to change after one had spent a few years as a ruler. Nasher had once known a young baron who thought his barony would be rightful place where no innocents were wronged. He couldn't accept when he saw his people as they were; ignorable and bitter peasants, arguing over so little things and even killing each other if nobody stopped them. After two years the young baron gave up his scepter and went to monastery. Nasher thought he was Ilmater's priest nowadays. Fit calling for fine lad.
But being fine lad didn't always help, he sighed as he looked at his friend.
Spymaster was so quiet these days. And if Nasher's sight wasn't failing, Aarin's hair was turning gray. Only a few hairs, but it was a beginning.
How old was he? It was hard to say. When Aarin became his Spymaster, he had been young man, in his early twenties. Eyes shining with hope and love for that thief Calliara. Of course Nasher had known. It was only emotion which was easy to see in Aarin's face.
And when Aarin did what was necessary, that..youth's innocence, Nasher called it, had slowly started to vanish.
Aarin was nearing forty now. Twenty years and he'd be in same rather sorry state as Nasher himself. Those who claimed old age was the best did not know what they talked about. It was so hard on him. He had been fighter, a man who relied on strength of his arms. When he realized he couldn't lift the sword he'd once used... Oh, it had been such a dark day for him.
Almost like THAT day. Nasher grimaced. He didn't want to think of it. It was unpleasant enough when court bard insisted on singing the tale of Neverwinter's saviour. He couldn't tell why he never had liked her, but it had started when they first met after she had found all the ingredients.
A small voice in his mind said that maybe they were too alike. He could see many similarities in his younger self and halfelven ranger. They both were proud, headstrong and unwilling to forgive. Every time he saw her striding around in red-black-armor, holding those two rapiers in her hands (she even had named them, Black Rider Quill and Rapier of High Road. The latter was dripping acid and ruining floors in his palace), he remembered once again how he had become trapped in old man's fragile body. He should have been the one to battle Morag! He--
"Are you all right, my lord?", Aarin asked.
"Oh, yes.", Nasher said quickly, not wanting Aarin to know what he was thinking. "It's only the gout. Could you please fetch my medicine for me? It's in my room, third drawer from the top."
Spymaster nodded and Nasher settled more comfortably on his throne. Ache would fade away soon, and while he waited, he would ask the court bard to sing something nice. Maybe a song about his own adventures.
~~*~
When the bard played the last notes, Nasher flinched. Aarin was supposed be back by now. He shaked his head and sulkily stood up, leaning heavily on his walking stick. Or scepter, as he preferred to call it. Gend was probably fumbling through his things though he had been given specific instructions.
When he turned to the corridor where his room was, Nasher saw the door was ajar. He frowned a little. Aarin shouldn't leave doors open like that, one could never know if there were lightfingered servants. Feeling irritated, he walked to the door and pushed it open.
The room was empty. There was a broken bottle on the floor. His gout medicine! Now he had to ask priests of Tyr to make more, and it meant that he had to bear the pain longer. Why on earth Aarin had flopped it? Thieves did not do such things.
Staring at the open drawer, a very bad feeling rose in his mind. It couldn't be...By Beshaba's name! Almost too quickly for a man of his age, Nasher practically ran to the chest of drawers and cursed aloud when his suspicion was confirmed.
False bottom was neatly moved out of place to reveal a folded piece of yellow paper. Loathing, Nasher took it even though he knew very well what it said.
"My beloved, " he read it once again, "prison guard promised to give this to you before I have to leave. Aarin, I'm not angry to you. I was, I tried to be, but I cannot. You did only what you said you would do. If you still can love me even though what happened, please meet me by the City Gates at the sunrise. I pray Solonor Thelandira you'll be there, for if you don't come, I know you do not share my feelings and I will never bother you again."
His knuckles paled as he crushed the tiny piece of paper in his fist and throwed it into the fireplace.
"Giles!"he shouted and his chamberlain who was never far from his rooms, hurried to him. "Fetch Aarin for me."
"I'm sorry, my lord, but master Gend has left. I saw from the balcony how he rode like all the devils of Nine Hells were after him. I hope it weren't some bad news.", little man's face was anxious.
Bad news, indeed. Nasher clenched his teeth and told Giles to send that Feryan to him. It was time to see if the apprentice was ready to beat the master. He'd better be.
------
His back ached. Delegation from Silverymoon had a lot to say, and sitting on cold stone made his gout even worse. Lord Nasher remembered days when he battled minotaurs and suddenly, without warning, he had become an old man with gout. It wasn't fair.
But things were rarely fair, and it was the way of the world. Idealistic thoughts were all very nice but they tended to change after one had spent a few years as a ruler. Nasher had once known a young baron who thought his barony would be rightful place where no innocents were wronged. He couldn't accept when he saw his people as they were; ignorable and bitter peasants, arguing over so little things and even killing each other if nobody stopped them. After two years the young baron gave up his scepter and went to monastery. Nasher thought he was Ilmater's priest nowadays. Fit calling for fine lad.
But being fine lad didn't always help, he sighed as he looked at his friend.
Spymaster was so quiet these days. And if Nasher's sight wasn't failing, Aarin's hair was turning gray. Only a few hairs, but it was a beginning.
How old was he? It was hard to say. When Aarin became his Spymaster, he had been young man, in his early twenties. Eyes shining with hope and love for that thief Calliara. Of course Nasher had known. It was only emotion which was easy to see in Aarin's face.
And when Aarin did what was necessary, that..youth's innocence, Nasher called it, had slowly started to vanish.
Aarin was nearing forty now. Twenty years and he'd be in same rather sorry state as Nasher himself. Those who claimed old age was the best did not know what they talked about. It was so hard on him. He had been fighter, a man who relied on strength of his arms. When he realized he couldn't lift the sword he'd once used... Oh, it had been such a dark day for him.
Almost like THAT day. Nasher grimaced. He didn't want to think of it. It was unpleasant enough when court bard insisted on singing the tale of Neverwinter's saviour. He couldn't tell why he never had liked her, but it had started when they first met after she had found all the ingredients.
A small voice in his mind said that maybe they were too alike. He could see many similarities in his younger self and halfelven ranger. They both were proud, headstrong and unwilling to forgive. Every time he saw her striding around in red-black-armor, holding those two rapiers in her hands (she even had named them, Black Rider Quill and Rapier of High Road. The latter was dripping acid and ruining floors in his palace), he remembered once again how he had become trapped in old man's fragile body. He should have been the one to battle Morag! He--
"Are you all right, my lord?", Aarin asked.
"Oh, yes.", Nasher said quickly, not wanting Aarin to know what he was thinking. "It's only the gout. Could you please fetch my medicine for me? It's in my room, third drawer from the top."
Spymaster nodded and Nasher settled more comfortably on his throne. Ache would fade away soon, and while he waited, he would ask the court bard to sing something nice. Maybe a song about his own adventures.
~~*~
When the bard played the last notes, Nasher flinched. Aarin was supposed be back by now. He shaked his head and sulkily stood up, leaning heavily on his walking stick. Or scepter, as he preferred to call it. Gend was probably fumbling through his things though he had been given specific instructions.
When he turned to the corridor where his room was, Nasher saw the door was ajar. He frowned a little. Aarin shouldn't leave doors open like that, one could never know if there were lightfingered servants. Feeling irritated, he walked to the door and pushed it open.
The room was empty. There was a broken bottle on the floor. His gout medicine! Now he had to ask priests of Tyr to make more, and it meant that he had to bear the pain longer. Why on earth Aarin had flopped it? Thieves did not do such things.
Staring at the open drawer, a very bad feeling rose in his mind. It couldn't be...By Beshaba's name! Almost too quickly for a man of his age, Nasher practically ran to the chest of drawers and cursed aloud when his suspicion was confirmed.
False bottom was neatly moved out of place to reveal a folded piece of yellow paper. Loathing, Nasher took it even though he knew very well what it said.
"My beloved, " he read it once again, "prison guard promised to give this to you before I have to leave. Aarin, I'm not angry to you. I was, I tried to be, but I cannot. You did only what you said you would do. If you still can love me even though what happened, please meet me by the City Gates at the sunrise. I pray Solonor Thelandira you'll be there, for if you don't come, I know you do not share my feelings and I will never bother you again."
His knuckles paled as he crushed the tiny piece of paper in his fist and throwed it into the fireplace.
"Giles!"he shouted and his chamberlain who was never far from his rooms, hurried to him. "Fetch Aarin for me."
"I'm sorry, my lord, but master Gend has left. I saw from the balcony how he rode like all the devils of Nine Hells were after him. I hope it weren't some bad news.", little man's face was anxious.
Bad news, indeed. Nasher clenched his teeth and told Giles to send that Feryan to him. It was time to see if the apprentice was ready to beat the master. He'd better be.